


hope here needs a humble hand

by humanveil



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-05 16:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15175010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: The cyclic nature of comfort.





	hope here needs a humble hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



> Geckoholic: This fic saw many forms before it was finished, but I really hope this is at least close to what you were hoping for! 
> 
> Episode Tags: S01E03 Philly Feast, S01E06 Resurrection Z, S02E02 White Light, S02E06 Zombie Baby Daddy.
> 
> Special thank you so [C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby) & [A](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutepoison) for all their help. 
> 
> Title taken from ‘Black Flies’ by Ben Howard. Enjoy!

**01\. Philly Feast.**

The wind is harsh. Cold at the late hour. It passes through the greenery around them, rattles the windows of the truck, makes the oversized jacket Addy has draped around her shoulders flap at the sides, has made a mess of her hair, the dark red strands wild. Disarrayed.

She barely notices. 

The back of the truck is hard where she sits, the edge of the bed digging into the flesh of her thighs as she lets her legs dangle over the side. They’re still driving, Garnett at the wheel this time, but she doesn’t pay much attention to where they’re going, the vacant streets passing by in a blur as she stares, absent. She feels out of touch with reality, feels disconnected from the group. Her mind is still reeling with the day’s events. The images of bodies—dismembered and dying, held captive by a madman—are still burnt behind her eyes. Still play as if on repeat. The horror, the fear, the disgust still pungent on her tongue. Still crawling their way through her body. 

She can’t sleep, even though she knows she needs it. 

She listens without paying attention, the sound of gavel under tires blending in with the wind, with the familiar rhythm of Mack’s snores. With the low tones of Murphy and Doc, the two of them in the back seat bickering. She hears someone tread along the bed of the truck, feels rather than sees them approach her. 

A body settles down beside hers, and it’s only when a hand reaches to curl around her own that she realises who it is. Warren’s skin is warm against her own, the squeeze of her hand tight. Secure. The touch says more than words ever could. 

It’s a modicum of comfort. Is all they can manage in a time like this. 

 

** 02\. Resurrection Z.  **

It’s only weeks later, when the wound of Garnett’s death is still fresh, that Addy repays the favour.

 

**03\. White Light.**

The car ride is silent, tense. Warren sends Murphy to the back of the truck with a pointed look; keeps only Doc and Vasquez in the front with her and Addy. It’s an attempt at comfort. A small act to try and help—to ease the pain.

They’re in mourning. All of them, but Addy especially. Warren sits beside her, sneaks glances from the corner of her eye. She wants to offer _something._ Anything that could help. But she knows there’s nothing—knows time is their best chance at healing wounds. Knows that all Addy wants right now is to have Mack back and there’s nothing she can do or say that will manage that.

It’s the cost of survival, Warren has come to learn. Pain, suffering. _Loss._

Sometimes she wonders if it’s worth it.

Hours pass in silence, the sky above them fading from blues to oranges to greys. It’s only when the horizon darkens and the sky turns black that Warren hears Addy say, “There were too many.”

It’s a whisper: broken and breathy, the words said with a tremor. Warren turns, and Addy looks at her, her eyes watery and bloodshot, and it’s heart-breaking. Has Warren’s throat tightening; has her battling with herself to keep her cool, to stay in control. She can’t fall apart, she thinks. It’s not her turn.

“I had to mercy him,” Addy continues, and it’s watery. Shaky. She sniffs, reaches up to wipe at her eyes. “I don’t…” _Know what to do_ , Warren’s brain supplies, but Addy can’t get it out, can’t speak through the burn of her throat.  

Warren tugs her forward, drapes her arm around Addy’s shoulders and holds her close. Tilts her head forward so she can press a kiss to the top of Addy’s head. “We keep going,” she says, whispers, her voice low and raw and full of emotion.

She gets a choked, broken sob in answer, Addy’s face burying in the crook of her neck, and she allows her eyes to shut. Inhales, exhales. Holds on tight.

 _We keep going_ , she repeats to herself. 

There’s no other option.

 

**04\. Zombie Baby Daddy.**

“How is it?”

Warren looks up as Addy approaches her, shifts over on the log so she can take a seat. Her jacket is off, the bandaging around her shoulder wound torn back slightly; the once-white dressing turned varying shades of red and brown with blood.

“A pain in the ass,” she says, “but at least it’s not infected.” She covers the wound back up, turns to face Addy. “How’s 10K?”

“Hanging in there,” Addy says, looks over her shoulder to glance at where 10K sits near their truck, Doc and Vasquez acting as a barrier between him and Murphy. Tensions are still high, Cassandra’s death still too recent. It’s why they’d stopped in the first place—the chance to wander off from each other a much-needed respite.

“And you?” Warren asks. “You hanging in, too?”

Addy smiles, laughs. The sound breathy and humourless. She lifts her shoulders in a half-shrug, looks down toward the ground. “You know,” she says, as if it’s a real answer. She sighs, kicks her boot against the dusty grass and looks up at the sky. “I feel like we keep doing this,” she says after a while, and it’s sad, tired. Drained.

Warren hums, knows what she means. They keep finding themselves here, trying to seek comfort from each other when there’s little to be found. It’s a cycle, she thinks. Back and forth until one of them gives.

It’s not a happy thought.

“C’mon,” she murmurs, stands. Wipes the dirt from her pants and reaches out. Addy takes the offered hand, allows Warren to pull her to her feet.

They walk back to the truck side by side, vulnerability replaced with control; with leadership as they take command of the group. Warren motions for everyone to get back in the car, and she knows it’s only a matter of time before they do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos = ♡♡♡  
>  


End file.
